


Whatever Here That's Left of Me

by MagnusMalady



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Autistic Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Canon Asexual Character, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Making tea is a love language, Panic Attacks, Self-Hatred, Set in Episodes 159-160 | Scottish Safehouse Period (The Magnus Archives), Suicidal Thoughts, The Mechanisms Were The Archivist's College Band, Touch-Starved, Trans Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Trans Martin Blackwood, it's not mentioned i just wanted it known
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:41:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27600173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagnusMalady/pseuds/MagnusMalady
Summary: After the events with The Lonely, Jon wants to help Martin heal, but in doing so, he fails to take care of himself. Afterall, Martin needs him more. So, Jon bottles up his emotions, and doesn't realize the bottle is almost already full.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 63
Kudos: 389





	1. Arrival

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic on here and honestly I'm proud of it. Chapter specific content warnings will be in the beginning notes for each chapter.
> 
> This Chapters Content Warnings:  
> -Stimming  
> -Slight panic  
> -Non-verbal communication
> 
> Title is from As It Was - Hozier

The drive from London to Scotland was long. Jon drove while Martin silently sat in the passenger seat, and neither man had said a word for the hours long journey. Jon had spared glances toward Martin when he could look away from the road, and his face had a look… sympathy mixed with pity and worry. All he saw was Martin, his once vibrant, curly ginger hair now limp, and muted, his eyes downcast toward his hands which were loosely folded in his lap. At a quick glance, he looked like maybe he was sleeping, slumped forward in his seat. But upon closer inspection, it looked as though he was really deep in thought. The Lonely was still clinging onto him, and it was clinging hard.

Jon debated if he should reach out and take Martins hand. He starts to do so, his hand coming off the steering wheel and reaching out for Martin. Martin gasps, and jerks out of his way, his eyes widened, but not leaving where his gaze was focused previously. Jon brings his hand back, as if he was burned. Both him and Martin slowly return to their original positions. Jon doesn’t attempt to reach out to Martin again, unsure of what he did wrong. He digs the thumbnail of his one hand into the steering wheel, while the he brings the hand he reached out with up and he starts to flap. After a few minutes, he calms down and hesitantly puts his hand half way between himself and Martin, an open invitation for Martin to take, despite how awkward it felt for the rest of the drive. 

When they finally... finally reach Daisy’s cabin it had just stopped raining. Jon takes a moment and slumps forward, resting his head on the steering wheel. He sits back up and looks at Martin, properly for the first time since leaving The Lonely. His hair is faded, but there are now white streaks running through it, growing more and more prominent closer to the roots. His eyes are dull and glazed over, unfocused on what’s in front of him, but rather on something a million miles away through the bottom of the car. Jon notes how weird Martin looks without his glasses on. He had them on when they left The Lonely, but they must have fallen off at some point in the car between London and here.

Jon thought this was a good place to start. A connection point to help bring Martin back to the present moment and out of wherever he found himself spiraling down. 

“Martin…darling?” Jon went to reach forward again for Martins shoulder, but stops himself, remembering Martins reaction the last time. Instead, he gets out of the car and crosses to Martins passenger door. He carefully opens it and kneels down on the rain-soaked dirt driveway. “I’m just searching for your glasses, okay?” Receiving no response from Martin, he pulls out his phone and turns on the flashlight, gently searching around Martins ankles. He finds them, just under the front of the seat. “Ah! Here we are. Do you want your glasses, Martin?” he asks, coming back up, but still kneeling, gingerly holding them out to the quiet man. Jon practically puts them in Martins lap before Martin ever so slowly uncurls his hand from around his other hand, and takes his glasses from Jon. However, Martin doesn’t put them on, he just holds them in a gentle fist. 

“Martin?” Jon speaks just above a whisper, as if he’s talking to a cowering cat in an alleyway. “Come on, we should get inside. It’s going to start raining again soon and I would like to get the bags inside so that way we can settle in for the rest of the night.” 

Martin only vaguely shifted his head towards Jon as an indication that he heard him. “You don’t have to worry about a thing, okay?” Jon said. “I’ll grab the bags, and we’ll head into the cabin together. Just give me a moment, okay?” Jon moves to the back seat and opens the door to receive both his and Martins meager belongings that they were able to quickly grab from the institute and Martins flat. When Jon emerged from the back seat, Martin was standing and Jon couldn’t help but smile at the bit of progress. He closes the car doors, including Martins, and walks onto the small porch toward the door. Martin slowly follows behind him, his gaze still fixated on the muddy ground. 

Jon opens the cabin door with the key given to him by Basira and takes quick stock of what he sees. A tiny kitchenette, a two-person dining table, a threadbare sofa with a quilt thrown over the back, an armchair, a coffee table, a fireplace, a modestly supplied bookshelf, and a short hall that leads to three doors. He walks in and places the bags on the table, and turns back to Martin, who shows no interest in his new surroundings. Jon wanted to guide Martin to sit on the sofa, but was unsure of how to go about that. 

“Martin? If you want, you can sit down, I’ll make you something.” He thinks for a second. “I’ll make you tea! Does that sound nice?” He looks at Martin, a hopeful expression on his face, and waits for an answer, which came in the form of Martin looking in the general direction of the armchair and moved toward it. Jon immediately turns toward the kitchen. He finds two mugs easily enough, one with the police force emblem emblazoned on it, and the other covered in small painted daises. The kettle needed to be washed, so while he waited for the water to run clear, he searches for a box of tea. He finds a box of English Breakfast hidden amongst canned and boxed dry goods in one of the cabinets. “I guess it’s early enough in the morning for this,” Jon joked, looking up at Martin, who had taken to sitting on the edge of the armchair, glasses still clutched in his hands, but unresponsive to Jon’s attempt at levity.

The water ran clear after a bit, and Jon washes the kettle, fills it with fresh water, and gets the stovetop started on heating the water. He also washes and dries the mugs, and put a teabag in each of them. The water was hot soon enough and he pours it in the mugs. It steeped, he threw the used tea bags in the sink, and carried the mugs to the…living room? Sitting area? Where Martin was. 

Jon sits on the couch cushion closest to Martins armchair. He sets his own mug on the coffee table and holds out the floral mug to Martin. Without properly looking up, Martin grabs the mug and just holds it, seemingly acting on instinct. Jon picks his own back up and sips at it gently, too hot to drink proper. 

Jon waited a few minutes. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to, Martin, but it would do you some good to drink something.” Martin doesn’t move. “Please?” He stays frozen. Jon sighs. “I can get you just water if you’d rather have that?” Silence.

Jon sighs again and sits back in the sofa, knees coming up to his chest, quietly sipping at his tea watching Martin.

After about ten minutes of silence, Martin takes a sip of tea. The motion was robotic but Jon just grins. He’s getting through to Martin, even if it takes a bit for Martin to connect the words in his head. That’s totally fine Jon thinks. It’s something, and that’s a whole lot better than nothing. 

Martin drinks his cooling tea in increments, like he forgets that he’s holding the mug. He’ll remember he has it, takes a few steady sips, then waits a while, until the short cycle repeats. 

The mugs were both emptied after a while, Jon’s long before Martins. Jon slowly takes the mug out of Martins hands and walks to the sink. He’ll worry about them later. For now, he just wants to sleep, but more importantly, he wants to help Martin. He walks back to his absent… friend? Friend. And he kneels in front of him, knees still damp from the same action outside.

“Martin? I know it seems hard right now but I need you to listen to me, okay?” There’s no verbal response. Just a slightly raised head. Jon sighs. “Can you give me a yes or no?” Jon waits for a bit, and Martins head slowly nods. “That’s great! Okay! Is it okay to touch you, Martin?” Another wait, followed by another slow nod. He slowly reaches out and takes Martins hands, grabbing his glasses. His hands were still so unnaturally cold. They’ve only slightly warmed from The Lonely. This worried Jon even more. “I’m going to put your glasses on your face. Is that okay?” Martin nods, his response coming just slightly faster than before. Jon gently unfolds Martins large round glasses and slowly places them on the tip of his nose. He pushes them up to his face. “There we are! Is that better, Martin?” 

Martin doesn’t respond, he just looks at where Jon had grasped his hands. His hand tightens around Jon’s. Jon could have cried with how Martin was responding. He knew it was slow, but it really was better than nothing. 

But something was nagging him in the back of his mind. Martin had talked to Jon in The Lonely. He was so far away then and yet he talked to him. So why wasn’t he talking now? 

“Martin, can you talk to me?” Jon started rubbing his thumb along Martin’s knuckles, a comforting gesture, and Martin seemed to be hypnotized by the movement. Jon placed his other hand on Martins soft, freckled cheek, and did the same motion, but slower. He nudges his face to look at him, his eyes trying to meet Martins dulled ones. 

Martin met his eyes, and opened his mouth, but no words came out. His eyebrows scrunch up in distant frustration. Like knowing he’s supposed to be angry, but he can’t quite remember why. Both of Jon’s hands here on his cheeks now.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay if you can’t. I’m just…worried, Martin. I don’t want to lose you to The Lonely again. I won’t.” Jon’s face shows all of his worry and determination to the world. To Martin. In this moment, the world and Martin are one in the same. 

Jon had not realized it until he felt it, but Martin places one of his hands on Jon’s. Jon beams at Martin. He was thrilled. Thrilled that Martin wasn’t as far away as he thought. The more he got Martin to respond to him, the closer to shore he brought him. He needed to do something more, to bring him fully out of the fog, not to scare him back in.

“How about we get changed into some comfy clothes?” Jon suggested. “Would that help?” 

Martin responded with a nod. Jon stood up and went to get his and Martin’s bags. He was stopped, however, by a tug on the end of his sleeve. Martin had grabbed him and his eyes held a brighter sheen, and a desperate, wordless plea. 

“I’m not leaving. I’m just grabbing our bags.” Jon said, gently. 

Martin opened his mouth, perhaps to ask Jon to stay, but once again, the words wouldn’t come. “You can walk with me if that’s what you want.” Jon said, and took Martin’s hand, helping him out of the armchair. Martin clasped his hand so tightly. They walked the short distance to the bags. Jon shouldered one and then grabbed the other, not wanting to let go of Martins hand. He didn’t want to throw out the progress they have made in the sort time that they had been in the cabin. 

Jon led Martin to the three doors in the hall. The first door he opened led to nowhere. It was a linen closet with a set of sheets, multiple blankets of different patterns, colors, and materials, and three towels of different colors. The next door he tried led to the bathroom. He found the switch, flipped it on, and walked in, Martin following on his heels. Immediately to the right was a small counter with a sink in the middle, and a mirror on the wall directly above it. The counter held a half empty pump bottle of soap and a hairbrush. There was a partition wall between the sink and toilet, and next to that, against the wall was a tub. Jon turned on the sink to get it to run clean, and did the same with the tub, never letting go of Martins hand.

They left the bathroom to the only unexplored part of the cabin left. Jon opened the door, flipped the switch, and saw a full-sized bed without sheets, a side table with a lamp, and a closet. Both men entered the room. Jon drops the bags at the head of the bed, and sat at the foot. Jon guided Martin to sit next to him. “I need to let go of your hand to get your clothes, okay Martin?” 

Martin nods but doesn’t let go. Jon works his hand away slowly and Martin fills the void by grabbing his own hand. Jon rifles through the bag belonging to Martin and found loose pants and a worn shirt. “I’m going to go turn the water off in the bathroom and change there while you change here, okay?” Jon asks as he passes Martin his clothes. Martin replies with an unsure shrug. “I’ll be right back okay?” Martin nods.

Jon gathers his own clothes, gets up, and leaves the room, closing the door behind him. He makes his way to the bathroom and turn off both sources of water. He changes into an old shirt from his college band and some lounge pants. He takes a moment for himself over the sink. Looking at his face in the mirror, Jon sees a man who is tired. He’s gaunt, his skin is darkened around his eyes, which are red from the lack of rest he’s gotten recently. His hair, streaked with grey, is frizzled out in every direction. His clothes rumpled, and his lips dry. Jon has started to recognize the man in the mirror less and less over the previous months. A silhouette of who he was when he first joined the institute. So much has been added to him in the form of scars, trauma, and guilt. The same taken away in the form of dignity, skeletal parts, and humanity. 

Jon broke his gaze from the mirror and heaved a heavy sigh. Leaving the bathroom, he opens the linen closet back up, grabbing the set of sheets for the bed, as well as multiple blankets. 

Jon heads back to the bedroom and sees Martin still just holding the clothes, having not moved. He walks over to him and kneels again, his knees protesting his attempt at this tender action. He places his hand on Martins. “Martin, please work with me here. You’ve been doing so good, and I’m so proud of you, so please, just do this last thing, and we can rest, okay? I’ll make the bed while you change.” 

Martin takes a deep breath in and releases it. He gets up, walks to the side table and stets his clothes down. Jon gets up as well, turning away to give Martin privacy and to make the bed. Jon focuses on one side of the bed, then the other, seeing Martin at least has fresh pants on. Martin is fully changed when he finishes with the bed. Martin picks up his clothes and looks around for a place to put them. This is when Jon realized he just left his own on the bathroom floor. Jon gives Martin a gentile smile and takes his clothes out of his hands. He takes them to the bathroom and piles them with his clothes. He’ll take care of them later when he’s not worried about having Martin out of his sight for more than a minute at most. 

With that in mind, he now had a decision to make. There’s only one bed. He doesn’t want to leave Martin alone, but he doesn’t want to overstep any boundaries by sleeping in the bed with Martin.

Jon makes his way back to the bedroom and Martin has sat himself on the edge of the bed. He had moved the bags off the bed and put them near the closet. The blankets were piled all over the bed. Jon stands in the doorway, his arms hugging himself. 

“I’ll be on the sofa if you need me; you can have the bed. Is there… is there anything else you need, Martin?” 

“P-Please don’t… don’t leave me.” Martin quietly chokes out, his voice withdrawn and tight. 

Jon wants to celebrate Martin talking for the first time since leaving The Lonely. Instead, he walks to the bed and sits next to Martin. “I’m not leaving you, darling. I’ll be right outside. If you need me all you need to do is get me. I’ll be here in less than a heartbeat.” 

“Please don’t leave me,” Martin repeats, his voice growing thicker. A tear makes its way down Martins face and Jon is quick to wipe it away with his thumb, his hand lingering on Martins cheek. 

“Do you want me to stay here with you, Martin?” 

Martin nods with the most energy he’s had all night. 

“Okay,” Jon continues, “I’ll stay here. Are you okay with me in the bed or do you want me to sleep on the floor? Because I will if you’re uncomfortable with me in the bed.”

Martin pats the bed, unable to find any more words. 

“Okay.” Jon nods once. He stands up and makes some order of the blankets strewn across the bed. He picks a fluffy green one for himself, and helps Martin settle in taking off his glasses and setting them on the bedside table, and pulling an equally fluffy brown blanket over him. He lays down next to Martin, covering himself up with his blanket. Jon reaches out and brushes some hair away from Martins face. “I’m here for you. If you need anything at all, you just ask, okay?” 

Martin sighs and closes his eyes. 

Jon finds it hard to get to sleep that night, despite how exhausted he is. He still feels the energy from Peter Lukas’ statement coursing through him. He doesn’t want to fall asleep listening to a podcast because what if Martin needs him, and he can’t hear him. Eventually, his eyes fall shut, and his head is full of images from previous statements, now with the addition of the Lonely sea captain.


	2. Absent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is now going to be five chapters instead of four because I realized that, when editing, the fourth chapter would have been the same length of the first three chapters combined. So, I decided to split it in half. 
> 
> This Chapters Content Warnings:  
> \- Minor panic attack  
> \- Stimming (Incl. mentions of biting and hair pulling)  
> \- Non-verbal communication

Jon wakes up to the sun hitting his face. It’s early morning so he couldn’t have gotten much sleep. But still, Jon thinks, some is better than none. He rubs his eyes and rolls to look at Martin. And Jon’s stomach drops. Martin is gone. The bed has an empty, Martin sized space on it. Jon bolts upright, his stomach starts to tighten and he’s overwhelmed with a wave of nausea. He looks around and sees no evidence to where he may have gone. Outside the window a heavy fog blankets the Scottish hills despite the bright early morning sun. At this sight, Jon starts to breathe quickly. Jon hugs himself, and resists the urge to start pulling on his hair. He wants to curl up, to stick his head between his knees, to rock, to bite his hand, to just wait for it to all be over, for everything to just go away, but he can’t. He needs to find Martin even if he has to find a way into The Lonely to do so. 

Jon quickly jumps out of the bed and practically runs out of the room. He checks directly across the hall in the bathroom and it’s empty. All he sees is their clothes from last night. He barrels into the sitting area and is stopped dead in his tracks.

He sees Martin in the kitchen, standing over the stove, pushing something around with a spatula. Jon rushes up to Martin, who hears him coming and turns around. Jon throws his arms around the taller man, squeezing him as tight as he can, to prove to himself that he really is there and not in an Eldritch pocket world. 

“Jon,” Martin starts to speak but is interrupted by Jon.

“Don’t you ever do that to me again,” Jon breathes heavily into Martins chest, trying to get his breath to calm down, but it only makes him start to sob. 

“I’m just making breakfast, Jon.” A ghost of a fond smile finds its way onto Martins face. 

Jon moves one of his hands to Martins hair just curls his hand in it. “I thought I lost you again,” he whispers. The word again hangs in the air.

Martin flounders for something to say, but instead he just hugs Jon back. Jon can still feel the cold seeping through Martin, but he’s a little warmer than last night. Like a fridge rather than a freezer. 

They stay together like that until the kettle on the stove begins to whistle. Jon sniffs and pulls away, wiping his eyes with his hand and wrapping his arms back around himself as a comfort. Martin turns the burner off and pours the hot water into the same two mugs from last night, now washed and cleaned. He turns his attention back to what he was pushing around in the pan. Jon inches forward to see what it is. Martin sees this.

“Oh, uh, there wasn’t much in the way of breakfast, but I found a carton of those hash browns that you rehydrate then cook. They’re plain though. There’s no seasoning here.”

“There’s a uh… there’s a village just down the roadway. We can go down later and stock up on everything we need,” Jon suggests. He immediately starts making a mental list.

Martin nods. He finishes prepping the tea while the hash browns finish cooking. When they’re done, he plates some for himself and Jon and brings the plates over to the small, scuffed, scrapped, and stained dining table. Jon helps by grabbing the tea. They both take a seat and they tuck in, each using the same mug they used last night.

It’s not exactly a comfortable silence, but it isn’t entirely uncomfortable either. They both know what needs to be said, but neither of them knows where to start. 

Jon decides to get the ball rolling after he finished his plate. “I uh… thank you, Martin. For breakfast. It was good.”

“Oh. Thank you, Jon. It’s the least I could do since you…” he pauses.

“Since I what?”

Martin hesitates, then speaks just above a whisper. “Since you pulled me out of The Lonely and dealt with me last night. I supposed I wanted to say thank you. And… sorry.”

“Sorry for what, darling?” Jon’s brow creases.

“For going all… space cadet on you yesterday.”

Jon speaks up before Martin can go on further. “There’s no need to apologize for that, Martin. And I didn’t ‘deal with you.’ I wanted to help. I’m the one who should be sorry. I wish I could have been more help to you. I let you sit the entire car ride practically catatonic and I did nothing except make you jumpy.”

“Jon, honestly, you were helping me just by being there. I know my actions didn’t exactly say it but I am really grateful.”

“I’ll always be here for you, Martin. We’re in this together.” He reaches his hand across the table and Martin takes it. They clean up their dishes and Martin gets started on another round of tea. Once that’s all done, they settle together on the sofa. 

“I’m sorry for scaring you this morning,” Martin says quietly to the cold fireplace.

“I’ll be honest, Martin, I genuinely thought I lost you to The Lonely again. It scared me in a way I never want to feel again.”

“I understand.”

They stare at the cold hearth until Jon shifts to where he’s sitting with his legs up on the cushion, facing Martin, but not making eye contact. “How are you feeling?” That seemed like a good question to ask. Martin looked to be doing better.

“Honestly? Kind of…cold?” 

Jon immediately grabs the quilt off the back of the sofa and offers it to Martin. Martin takes it with a touch of hesitation and after he has it, Jon gets up and starts to figure out how to get a fire going in the hearth. He’s never really done this before, and he doubts that the Eye would supply him with the knowledge on how to do so. He grabs some split logs from the storage rack and runs back to the bedroom for his web lighter. When he comes back with said lighter, he sees that Martin is still just holding the quilt. He’s not quite sure what to do there. Martin said he was cold, and blankets warm you up. He turned back to the fireplace and got to work on lighting them. After a few attempts, he finds success. 

“There we are! This place will be warm in no time,” Jon says as he sits back on the sofa next to Martin, who has yet to wrap himself up in the quilt. He looks at Martin, perhaps seeking approval. His face falls when Martin doesn’t look at him, he just stares into the growing fire.

Oh, Jon realizes, and his stomach sinks. That’s not what he meant by cold. Whether Martin knew what he was saying or not, Jon Knew that the fog of The Lonely was still biting at Martins heels. Martin was still an easy target, his mind still raw from the events of the day before. 

Jon takes one of Martins hands in his own. A gesture he knew was meant to comfort, but it only made Jon more uneasy when he felt just how cold Martins hand was. 

“Martin, please let me help you,” Jon begs. “Tell me how I can help you.” 

Martin just continues to stare at the flames. Jon wants to just be able to Know what’s wrong. He knows what’s the matter, Martin still feels the call to The Lonely. But he can’t Know why. He’s here with Jon, and Jon is trying to comfort him. Jon supposes he could Know. He could reach into Martins head, compel him to tell him what wrong, but Jon feels like that would only detract from the progress that they’ve already made since arriving in the cabin. He may not be the best at communication or emotions in general, and he knows that, but he also knows that forcing Martin into anything won’t help at all. All it will do is create more problems. 

Jon takes the blanket out of Martins limp hands and sets it to the side. He curls up on the sofa and lays his head in Martins lap, like a cat trying to comfort their owner. Perhaps the weight will anchor Martin back, remind him that Jon is here.

Jon becomes entranced with the fire. He feels the heat of it and the memory of Jude Perry shaking his hand nags at his mind. Subconsciously, he tucks the burned hand under his other arm, and he takes up the position of hugging himself again. 

It could have been minutes or hours. The fire is still steady in the hearth, so it couldn’t have been too long. Jon feels a weight gently fall on his head, and a slow stroking follows. Martin was running his hands through Jon’s hair. Jon shudders at the feeling.

The hand pulls back. “Sorry… didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” Martin says dejectedly.

“What? No, it felt nice. I‘m just not… used to the feeling is all.” Jon nuzzles his face into Martins leg as if to confirm what he just said. 

“Oh, o-okay.” Martin puts his hand back on Jon’s head and just plays with his hair for a bit.

After a good chunk of time, Jon decides to fill the silence. “Martin.”

Martin hums in response.

“Please tell me how to help you. I have no clue what I’m doing.”

Martins hand pauses in Jon’s hair. He was braiding one of Jon’s many grey streaks. 

“I… I don’t really know.”

“Would it help if I Asked?”

Martin releases a sigh. “I don’t know.” 

Jon reaches behind his head for Martins hand. He grabs it and brings it to the front of his face. He’s not really sure how to respond to that, so the conversation drops there. Martin sits on the sofa and Jon lays on his lap. Martin continues to fiddle with Jon’s hair, braiding some portions, undoing it, then redoing it again. It’s a repetitive and soothing gesture for both of them. 

“This is nice,” Jon mutters.

“Yeah… Yeah it is.” Martin sighs, but Jon can hear the small smile in his voice.

Jon hadn’t noticed how touch starved he was until he realized how much he loved Martins touch. He settled into his lap like he belonged there. Martin seemed more than happy to have him there. Maybe he needs this as much as me, Jon thinks. But do I deserve it? Jon curls in on himself at the thought, feeling ashamed at wanting something so human. He hasn’t felt human for a while now. 

...............

The second time it happens, it’s a bit later in the day. Jon is reading on the sofa. He had picked out a book from Daisy’s shelf that seemed halfway decent, so he decided to give it a go. It’s something to fill the time anyways. Martin was in the kitchen making tea. A motion he knows so well he could do it in his sleep. The kettle whistles…and keeps whistling…and keeps whistling. Jon looks back and Martin is just staring out the window above the sink, oblivious to the screaming kettle. Jon puts his book down on the coffee table, not caring to mark his place at all, and approaches Martin. First, he turns off the stove, and the kettles whistle-screams die down. Jon hesitantly places his hand on Martins shoulder and guides him from the kitchen to sitting on the sofa, where he sits next to him, keeping his hand on his arm. Jon sits in silence for a moment, unsure of how to take care of this again. 

So, he starts talking to him.

“I’m reading one of Daisy’s book. Well, it’s not hers, she didn’t write it, but it belongs to her. Anyways, it’s about some guy, a detective I think, but it’s not really that interesting. Not my cuppa tea, if you know what I mean,” he laughs, and looks to Martin for a reaction, but his face is blank, lost in a distant stare.

Jon talks for an indiscernible amount of time, but he doesn’t care. He’ll talk to Martin forever if it keeps him off the shores of The Lonely. He talks about anything and everything he can think about. However, he’s running out of topics, so he starts talking about his shirt.

“It’s from the band I was in back at uni. It was the symbol of our crew. We were called The Mechanisms; Immortal space pirates, crew of the starship Aurora,” Jon slips into his Jonny D’Ville voice like a second skin. “Roving through the galaxy, having fun, violence, adventure, violence… violence!” Jon’s grin becomes a fond smile. “The shirt was actually Nastya’s design,” Jon says, stretching out the shirt for Martin to see. “They did a lot of design for the crew, and had a whole drawn layout for the Aurora and everything. I did most of the writing for the songs and stories and whatnot.”

Jon sighs, face falling looking at the shirt, soft with age and being worn many, many times. He rubs the material in his fingers. “You have no idea how badly I miss them, my band mates.” 

“I’m sure you’ll see them again, someday.” Martin says. There’s a distance to his voice, but he’s looking at Jon, and responding to what he says, and that’s what matters. 

“Hm.” Jon gives a faint smile to Martin. “I hope you’re right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love and appreciate the comments I recieved on the last chapter. Thank you so much!  
> 


	3. Domesticity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This Chapters Content Warnings:  
> \- Deception/downplaying mental issues  
> \- Brief overstimulation

It starts getting better after that. The first week finishes out with Martin spacing out only a handful of times, and each time Jon just talks to him until he comes back. He sits close to him and tells him stories, of his band, of his times before the institute, or of his childhood. 

In the middle of the second week, they both agree that they need to stock up on supplies from the village down the roadway. They could only live on canned goods for so long.

In the little shop, Jon was looking for the ingredients for one of the few proper dishes he remembered his grandmother teaching him how to make. It was a soup, the name of which he could never spell and that’s probably because his grandmother never said the name correctly. But he knew it had those small pepe pasta bits, celery, crushed tomatoes, and chicken. But there was something in it he could never remember. And then he Knew. It hit him harder than it should have. He had been trying not to just Know anything for the past almost two weeks. He didn’t want to invade Martins privacy like that, and he didn’t want to feed the eye any more than he had to. This caught him off guard. He wasn’t expecting The Eye to supply him with such trivial information. He grabbed his head as a pulse of pain washed through behind his eyes. 

“Jon?” Martin turned to him from the shelves and racks of spices. “Jon? What-what’s wrong?”

“N-nothing. I’m fine.” The pain fades away, leaving the list of spices and herbs he needed in its wake. “Just a bit of head rush is all.” 

“Do you need something? A…” Martin hesitates. “A statement?” 

“No!” Jon spits. It comes out harsher than he meant. Martin flinches back. “I’m sorry. No,” he says, more calmly. “It’s just a headache. Nothing more.”

“Okay. If you’re sure.” Martin gives him a worried side eye. But he gives him the benefit of the doubt. He trusts Jon to tell him if something was really wrong. After all, he came to him when he was ready to literally gouge his eyes out. 

But that’s the thing. That was before Jon had to save Martin from The Lonely. That was before he was completely consumed by what Lukas was working on him. Martin was working through his issues from that, Jon couldn’t become a roadblock to Martins recovery. His problems could wait. Besides, it’s nothing big at all. It’s just Knowing one thing, and it’s a small thing at that. No big deal. 

Jon didn’t see it, but Martin slipped a bottle of pain killers into their basket while Jon was trying to pick out an onion. Martin also made sure to stock up on various types of tea and biscuits. They paid with Peter Lukas’ card that Martin had, and started to walk back to the cabin. 

Halfway back, on the roadway that leads to the cabin, Martin gasped and stopped dead in his tracks. 

“Martin?” Jon has a great amount of concern in his voice and does everything in his power to not drop the grocery bags right there to put a hand on Martin to start anchoring him. Then Martin all but runs in a direction that is away from the road. “Martin!” Jon starts to follow him, but stops when he sees where Martin is going. Off on the side of the road, up against a fence is a highland cow. A very shaggy, horned highland cow. Once Martin gets closer, he slows his approach, and eventually stops at the fence, him and the cow looking at each other. Well, that was if the cow could see through all the fluff hanging in its face.

“Oh, aren’t you just the cutest, most sweetest thing?” Martin coos. The smile on his face is full of wonder and excitement, and the sight just makes Jon’s chest ache. It’s been so long since he’s seen Martin this happy. He wishes he could preserve this moment, this arcadia, forever in a bubble, this instance of calmness and enchantment. Perhaps he could get Martin to translate this into a poem for him; A pastoral, he thinks it’s called. 

With all the care in the world, as to not disturb the scene in front of him, Jon shifts his bags to grab his phone from the pocket of his cardigan. He silently takes a photo in a desperate attempt to capture any proof that this moment in time is real. Once he stows his phone back in his pocket, he approaches with care. Martin is petting the nose of the cow and cooing at it. “You’re just the fluffiest, aren’t you? So fluffy. I could just hug you.” 

Jon tries to stifle his laugh. The cow shifts its footing and its head winds up in front of Jon, and it pushes its nose into him. He stops laughing.

“I think he wants to say hello to you too.” Now it’s Martins turn to stifle his laughter, but isn’t trying very hard.

“H-Hello,” Jon gives a small wave to the cow. 

“Give him a pat.”

“Uh… o-okay?” Jon lifts a hand and places it between the cow’s horns and pats it there.

“Here, like this.” Martin abandons his groceries on the ground, places the ones Jon’s holding with them, and, standing beside Jon, wraps his arm around the shorter man, and carefully takes his hand in his. He brings their hands up to the nose of the cow and gently brings them across it. Jon loosens his muscles and starts to give a smile. He sighed and leaned back into Martin’s circumstantial embrace, noting the warmth he emitted. 

“She,” Jon says.

“Sorry?”

“Ah, you said he. That he wants to say hello. It’s a she.”

“How’d you know?” Martins hand pauses, but Jon continues the motions.

“I…I just do?” He smiles sheepishly. Jon just wants to drop the subject. He wishes he never said anything. “Uh…you should give her a name.” Change the topic before Martin starts to pry.

“Hmm. What would be a good name for this good cow?” Martin thinks for a bit. He’s started petting her on her neck, and she seems to be enjoying the attention because she just keeps standing there. 

Martin wraps his arm around Jon’s shoulders while he thinks. Jon settles back into Martins warmth, and has noted that it was better than it was last week. Last week, Martin was cold even through his clothing. Now, there’s color returning to his cheeks, his eyes shine a little brighter, and, while his roots are now solid white, his hair isn’t as dull. Jon was so proud of Martins progress, and it had only been barely two weeks. Jon imagines how he’ll look in another week, by the end of the month, two months. He doesn’t know how long they’ll be at the cabin, but he surprises himself by thinking that far into the future. There were days at the institute where he couldn’t even think to the next day, let alone a month. His hand that he isn’t using to pet the cow comes up and he flaps it in the air with all the excitement he’s feeling in this moment. He’s petting a cow in the Scottish Highlands after going grocery shopping with Martin, a man he’s asked to run away with him, and (while it wasn’t in the original circumstances of the proposition) he did. The only one left from the archives team, both old and new, who seemed to care enough to give him the time of day.

“How about Petunia?” Martin asks, taking Jon out of his train of thought.

“A good name for a good cow,” Jon mimics Martin earlier sentiment of the cow. 

At that, Petunia the cow turns away from the fence with a huff and walks back into the field. 

Martin squeezes Jon’s shoulders in a side hug as they watch Petunia walk away. 

Jon doesn’t have it in his heart to tell him that the cows actual name is Sasha, he Knew this when he Knew the cow was a girl. Of all the cows to see in Scotland, the one, the one they run into near their cabin, their safe house, is named Sasha. That’s not even a good cow name Jon thinks. How dare this cow have her name when something else already stole it. He releases a sigh.

“Is something the matter Jon?” Martin hugs Jon closer to his side, but Jon worms his way out, the pressure suddenly too much, and Jon hugs himself instead. 

“No-no. I’m fine,” Jon tried to give a reassuring smile. He quickly moved to grab the groceries.

“Jon…” Martin says gently. “If there’s something bothering you, you know you can tell me, right?”

“We…uh. We should probably get back to the safe house. Gotta get the cold stuff in the fridge so it doesn’t spoil.”

They gather the groceries back into their arms and make the rest of the walk in silence. Jon looks at Martin to make sure he hasn’t spaced out and he grabs the end of Martins sleeve and offers him a sympathetic smile, which Martin returns. Good, that’s good. He’s still here.

For dinner that night, Jon makes the soup and it’s just how he remembers it tasting when he made it with his grandmother. However, with one difference. Jon always liked his with extra pasta, whereas his grandmother preferred it soupier. Martin didn’t seem to have a problem when Jon added the entire box of pasta, so it should be fine. Martin tried to help, in fact, but Jon just said that he wanted to make it, and that Martin shouldn’t have to worry about it. He had it handled. 

At the little dining table, over empty bowls, Martin speaks, wringing his hands in his lap. “Jon, I’m…ah…I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable, back when we saw the cow.”

Jon looks up at Martin with a touch of confusion on his face. Then it dawns on him, and it shows on his face. He remembered how he wriggled out of Martins hug. “No, Martin, that’s not what happened.” He sighs and reaches his hand across the table. Martin takes it in relief. Jon takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry if my actions made you feel…put off, but it just got a bit…too much? Sensory overload, and all that. A lot happening at once.” It’s not exactly a lie. It’s just not the entire truth. 

Martin squeezes his hand. “I understand. But I want you to understand that if there’s something bothering you, you can tell me. If you need my help, I’ll be there for you.”

“That’s very kind of you, Martin. But really, I’m fine. It was nothing.” Jon really, really wants to change the subject. It’s not me you should be worried about; Jon wants to say. You have your own problems. Mine are my own and I can’t have them weighing you down.

Martin nods. “Can I…Can I give you a hug?”

Jon smiles, gets up, walks to Martins side of the table, and straddles his lap, wrapping his arms around Martin. Martin, in turn, chuckles, and hugs Jon back. 

The hug could have been seconds, it could have been days. Jon didn’t care. He was thrilled to see Martin happy. When they parted, Martin took a moment and studied Jon’s face. He brought a hand up on Jon’s jaw and drew his thumb across his cheek. Jon leaned into the touch, his eyes closed. 

That night, they slept closer to each other. And if, in the middle of the night, one realized that the other grasped their hand, they didn’t say anything about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guyyyyyys, your comments just make my day when I see them. Thank you so much!


	4. Break

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's projection hours lads!
> 
> This Chapters Content Warnings:  
> \- Graphic descriptions of a panic attack  
> \- Injury/blood  
> \- Brief mentioned of implied transphobia (Jon’s grandmother)

It was nearing the end of their first month at the cabin. Martin has been feeling the call of The Lonely less and less. It still happens, but usually there are multiple days between, not mere hours or only one day, and they only last a few minutes. Jon keeps talking him through them, reminding him that he’s there, that he’s not alone. 

However, while Martin has been feeling the call less, Jon had been Knowing more. And at this moment, he currently Knows how the book he’s reading ends, and that the author had an experience with The Desolation, which inspired this particular novel.

He puts the book on the coffee table and moves to get his coat and hiking boots on. 

Martin calls from the bedroom, “Did you do your T shot yet today?”

“No, I’ll do it when I get back.” 

“Wait, where are you going?”

“I’m going for a walk.”

“Well, give me a second, I’ll be right there.” 

Jon hears a shuffling, then Martin is walking to the door, shoes in hand. Jon looks down and shifts side to side. “Uh, Martin, please don’t take this the wrong way, it’s not you, but uh… I kind of wanted to be…by myself…for a bit.” 

“Oh…uh, okay,” Martin puts on a forced smile. “Right.” He puts his shoes down and walks to the kitchen. “Right…Just wait there for a second.” He grabs a water bottle, fills it up, and passes it off to Jon, who takes it.

“Thanks,” Jon mutters, with a touch of guilt in his tone. 

“Yeah, no problem.” Martin turns away from Jon and heads back to the bedroom, his shoulders visibly dropping.

“I shouldn’t be gone too long!” Jon calls out.

A muffled ‘yeah’ is heard behind the closed bedroom door.

Jon sighs and looks down at the water bottle in his hands. Even when Martin’s upset, he still manages to look out for Jon. For a second, Jon debates if he should just stay. If he should just grit his teeth and bare it, wait out the need to be alone, for Martin. But instead, he finds himself grabbing the door knob, and heading out of the cabin. 

As he walks, Jon drums his fingers on the bottle. He isn’t sure where he was headed, just that it was away from the village. He doesn’t want to look at a human right now. He won’t hurt anyone if he Knows about a tree, but if he Knows something about a person, then he’ll See that they might have a statement to give, food for The Eye. And then they’ll see him. Every night, ceaselessly watching. 

He ends up walking into the forest only a short walk behind their cabin, and follows a river. Normally he would have brought a book with him and found a nice tree to sit in like he did as a child. But what’s the point if he’ll just Know the ending. Instead, he just walks and listens. There are no statements to take out here, nobody stealing his friends, no feelings. It’s just…quiet. Peaceful. 

About an hour later, Jon is still walking along the river, but his thoughts start bugging him. ‘I hope Martins doing okay,’ he wonders. Jon thinks about Martins forced smile when he told him he wanted to be alone. 

‘The one you love is in pain.’ Jon hears it in the back of his mind, and without thinking, he’s running back to the cabin. He doesn’t stop until he gets there, despite the rough terrain, burning in his lungs, and the ache in his legs. He all but breaks the door off its hinges when he bursts through the door.

“Martin!” he gasps out. 

“Jon?” Martin is sitting right in front of him on the sofa. Jon sees Martin holding a bloody rag to his face and he rushes over to him. He takes Martins face in his hands and starts inspecting it for the damage.

“Jon,” Martin repeats. But Jon ignores him. He found the source of the blood, and it’s a slice on Martins jaw. He tries to take the rag from Martin.

“Jon!” Martin pushes Jon off, who stumbles back and, in shock of being pushed off with such force, freezes, still panting from running so far. “What the hell, Jon?!”

“Y-you’re hurt.” Jon goes to move forward, but given Martins reaction, he stops himself before he takes a second step forward.

“It’s nothing.” Martin waves dismissively at him and puts the rag back on his face.

Jon waits to collects himself until he stops breathing so hard from running. He starts to rub his knuckles together. “It…doesn’t seem like nothing. It took me a bit to run here, and you’re still bleeding.” 

“I just cut myself shav… Wait, what do you mean?”

“What?” “Jon cocked his head to the side.

“You said you ran all the way here.”

“Yeah, you were hurt. I didn’t know what happened! I panicked!” Jon’s voice steadily rises.

“Wait, wait. How did you know I was hurt?” 

Jon hesitates. He didn’t stop to think how he would explain to Martin that he Knew. Just that he needed help. Barely audible, Jon says, “I uh… I just Knew.” 

“What do you mean you ‘just knew’?!” Martin snaps.

Jon hugs himself as he shrinks back from Martin. “I just Knew…”

Martin holds back what he was going to say when he sees Jon curl himself up, trying to make himself as small as possible. 

Martin sighs and sits back down. He dabs the rag to check to see if he was still bleeding. Jon saw that he was when Martin pulled the rag away. 

Jon went to the linen closet and grabbed a clean wash rag, which he then took to the kitchen, ran it under cold water, then wrapped an ice cube in it. He walked back to where Martin was sitting and silently presented his idea. Martin raised an eyebrow but lowered his blood covered rag and turned his injured jaw to Jon, who walked forward and placed the ice rag on the sliced skin. 

Martin hissed at the sudden cold. Jon placed his hand that wasn’t holding the cloth to the other side of Martins jaw and cradled it gently, as if he was a sculpture made from the finest of glass and would shatter at the slightest hint of pressure.

Jon held the cloth there. “My grandmother taught me how to do this when I cut myself shaving the first time,” Jon explains, softly. “I guess I got a little overexcited once I started T, and there was barely anything there but a patchy shadow. I nicked myself good.” He gives a small chuckle, an attempt to lighten the mood.

“Your grandmother let you go on T while you were living with her? I thought you said she was a stuck-up prick.” Martins voice still has a touch of anger to it, but most of what was there before had dissipated. 

“She was. I had to wait until I got a job that paid enough. She said that if it was something I really wanted, then I had to work for it and earn it myself.” 

“She did know that’s not really how it works, right?”

“I don’t think she really cared to be honest.” Jon pulls the cloth away and inspected it. “You don’t have an unused or unscented lip balm, do you?” 

“Unused, no, unscented, yes.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine. Can I see it, please?”

Martin cocks his head but reaches into his pocket anyway. He hands Jon his little pot of lip balm, which Jon opens, smears a little on his finger, and applies to the cut. 

“Why?” Martin laughs a little.

“I don’t know. It’s just what my grandmother showed me. Always worked for me, though, so I never questioned it.”

“That’s fair I suppose.”

The pair falls silent as they both sit on the couch. Each unsure as to what to say or do next.

Martin is the first to break the silence. “So, you Knew I was hurt?”

“…Yeah,” Jon replies, already making himself small. 

“And you ran all the way back here because of that? You didn’t know how I was hurt?”

“Yeah.” Jon lifts his head to look at Martin, who’s face has lost all signs of anger.

Martin takes a moment to consider his words before he opens his mouth. “I…appreciate you running back for me. I really do. It means…a lot. However,” He takes Jon’s hand in his on his lap. “From here on out, I would also appreciate it if you wouldn’t Know things about me if you can help it.” 

“Okay. That’s fair, and I’m really sorry I did, I just couldn’t stop it. It just popped in and all I Knew is that you were hurt. It didn’t explain what that meant.” All of the panic and worry from the last half-hour slams into Jon like a bus going full speed. And with it, all the anxiety he’s been keeping inside him the past month about Martin, about one of the fears finding them, about Elias finding them. His breath catches in his throat. “I didn’t know if you were attacked or if The Lonely finally claimed you, or…or if Elia-Jonah found yo-” Jon’s starting to hyperventilate but his rambling is cut off by Martin raising a hand to Jon’s cheek. Martin forces Jon to look in his eyes. 

“Jon, I’m fine. You are fine. I’m right here. Jonah is not here. No one other than Basira knows we’re here. We are fine. Breathe, okay?” Martin speaks steadily. 

Jon nods his head and tries to get his shaky breathing back under control, but he’s hit with another wave of panic. He starts whimpering, trying to hold back the tears he’s held onto for so long. Instead, he starts to choke on them, and the bottle holding everything back that Jon stuffed into it shatters. The realization of so many different things that could have happened to Martin, simply because he wasn’t there, because he wanted to be alone. ‘Selfish,’ a voice in the back of his mind tells him. Martins is telling him that everything is okay, and to breathe. Jon’s clutching onto Martin, one hand in his hand, the other hand balled up in Martins sweater. 

“I can’t lose you, Martin,” Jon sobs. “I can’t. You’re the only thing I have right now and I can’t lose you.” His words don’t all come out complete. Some are lost in his throat, choked off with sobs. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry I made you mad, please don’t hate me, please.” 

“Shhh, Jon. It’s okay, love. I’m not mad at you. I could never hate you.” Martin squeezes Jon’s hand back, and realizes that Jon is shaking badly, and brings his other hand to stroke Jon’s hair. He pulls Jon into his lap and begins to rock him. He’s always noticed how Jon tends to rock himself when he’s upset or stressed, so he figured it could help.

“Please don’t hate me. You mean so much to me.” He feels like he’s talking through a wad of fabric shoved in the back of his mouth. He’s talking fast. “I treat you like shit, you don’t deserve that. You deserve so much more than me. Please don’t hate me. Please don’t leave me. You mean so much to me. So much. I can’t lose you. Please don’t leave. Please don’t be mad.”

Jon repeats these phrases over and over and over again. Martin’s chest tightens. He equates Jon’s sobbing begging with those of someone whose lover just threatened to leave them and they drank to cope. And maybe if Jon was drunk when he was saying this, maybe Martins chest wouldn’t feel so tight. He would just think it was the alcohol talking. But Jon is completely sober, with raw thoughts and emotions, with no ‘liquid courage’ to ease the thoughts along his tongue. 

Jon’s breath hitches every time he breathes in, his lungs trying to grab gulps of too much air, then not releasing enough of it. His lungs and chest are so tight, he feels like they’ll burst. And at the same time, he feels like he’s not getting enough.

“Can’t-I can’t-breathe.” Jon takes his hand out of Martins and starts clawing at his throat and the collar of his sweater. And this seems to make Jon panic even more. Jon is torn between two urges. The first wants to shove himself off of Martin and run, to be in the open where there’s nothing pressing in on him. He could scream and yell and let the openness consume it. The other wants to burrow into Martin so deep, to have Martin consume him in a hug so tight that it’s all he’s forced to think about. To cry into the thick material of his sweater and have his sobs be soaked up by it. 

Jon see’s Martins lips moving, but all he hears are gulps of air and sobs. Oh, those are his. 

“Jon, love, you’re having a panic attack. You need to calm down or you’re going to make yourself pass out,” Martin says. He’s trying to get Jon’s eyes to focus back on him. He’s takes the hand that Jon was holding and uses it to try and grab Jon’s hand back, to prevent him from hurting himself clawing at his throat.

Jon looks at Martin with sheer panic and terror, a plea in his eyes. His mouth trying to form the words, “I can’t breathe, help me please; Make it stop.” But no words come out, just heavy breathing and screaming sobs of anguish.

“Please stop, love, you’re hurting yourself. You don’t need that.” Martin keeps his voice steady, but he’s terrified. He’s never seen Jon this vulnerable, this raw and open. “Can I pick you up? I’m going to carry you to the bedroom.”

Jon knows Martin is speaking, but he doesn’t know what he’s saying. He could be asking him to leave the cabin for all he knows. He doesn’t care. He wants to stay with Martin, the man he loves and never wants to cause pain to. He goes with his second choice of staying close to Martin, and he grips his sweater tighter.

Martin takes this as an okay, so he loops Jon’s arm that isn’t clutching his sweater around his neck, and takes his own arms around Jon’s back and bottom for support. He hoists up Jon and is honestly not surprised by how light he is. Jon continues to hyperventilate, but he’s gripping at Martin super tightly now. 

Martin carries him to the bedroom and places him on the bed. Jon makes a noise of pure hurt and scrambles to get his arms around Martin again. Martin settles on the bed next to him, and he pulls Jon back into his lap and continues to rock him.

“Shhh, Jon, love, you’re alright. I’m here. I’m not leaving you. You’re okay, don’t worry. I’m here. I’m right here. If you need something, I’ll get it. I’ll get you anything. Just breathe with me, okay?” Martin holds Jon’s hand that isn’t currently locked in a death grip with Martins sweater to his chest. Martin is doing everything in his power to control his own breathing for Jon to feel and match. 

‘He’s terrified right now, because of you,’ a voice in Jon’s mind supplies. The Eye supplies. ‘You are scaring the one you love.’ Jon burrows his head into Martins shoulder and screws his eyes shut, willing the voice of The Eye to go away, but it won’t. It relentlessly keeps telling him how scared Martin currently is and how it’s All. Jon’s. Fault. “I didn’t ask for this!” He screams between sobs and the incomplete breaths. 

Martin now has Jon fully in his lap, one hand pressing Jon’s to his chest, and the other patting Jon’s back and hair. He’s rocking him back and forth, and whispering comforting things to him, like a parent soothing their child. 

It takes a little longer than Martin would have liked, but Jon stops hyperventilating. It takes a while longer to get him to stop crying, and it seemed to Martin that Jon needed a good long cry. He observed how pent up and emotionally reserved he had been these past few weeks. Jon had tried to hide it, but Martin could see it. The faults in the smiles, the worried looks when he thought Martin wasn’t looking, the self-hugs when he looked too stressed. Jon had jumped at every chance to help Martin, but every time Martin tried to help Jon, he would wave him off, insisting that he was fine, or that he could handle whatever it was on his own. Jon Knowing that Martin was hurt and then getting pushed away by Martin when he tried to help could have been the final straw before Jon just utterly broke. He’s been carrying so much weight with him since before they got to the cabin. Since before he saved Martin, before the Unknowing for that matter; And no one had been there for him. Even he hadn’t been there for himself. In some ways, Martin supposes, Jon was just as lonely as him. At this thought, Martin hugs Jon’s now calm form closer to him, as if he alone could protect him from the world and restore all the warmth and light to Jon.

“Jon? Do you want to talk?” Martin whispers. Jon doesn’t respond. Martin moves Jon’s hair away from his face, and a soft, caring “Oh,” escapes Martins lips when he looks at Jon’s face. He sees that Jon’s eyes are closed. His face, while tear streaked and messy, is calmer. The worry lines that are constantly on his face are smoothed out, and Martin realizes that Jon has cried himself to sleep in his arms. All the energy he had was siphoned away by his run through the woods and his panic attack. 

Martin looks around for any type of tissue, but he can’t find anything other than blankets. So instead, he uses his sleeve cuff to clean the tear streaks and snot off of Jon’s face. “Here, we’re just going to lay you down. There you are,” Martin mutters as he pulls Jon’s now limp hand off of his sweater, takes his jacket off of him, and lays him down on the bed. He slowly removes Jon’s shoes and glasses, and lays them near the bed. He covers Jon with the blanket he had chosen the night they first arrived at the cabin, does everything with such care as to not wake him. Martin debates if it’s a bad idea to leave the room. But Jon was going to want something to drink when he woke up. He didn’t know when that would be. He didn’t want to send Jon into another panic attack if he could help it, but at the same time, he wanted a drink ready for him. 

Martin opted to go to the kitchen and make a cup of tea. He kept the bedroom door open to listen for Jon, but he went back to the bedroom and sat down while the water was boiling. He only left to pour the water, and he came back with a steaming mug, as well as a glass of water. He sat in a chair they had moved to the bedroom and he kept vigil over Jon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just one more chapter to go!  
> Also, I realized I never linked my Tumblr. You can find me @magnusmalady (I have no clue how to link)


	5. Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alrighty lads, the final chapter is here!

Jon wakes up just as the sun was starting to set. He sees Martin sitting in the chair next to him, reading a book. 

Jon’s throat feels dry. He can’t find any words so he reaches out a hand to rest on Martins knee. Martins head snaps up and he is next to Jon in an instant holding a glass of water. Jon sits up, takes the glass, and downs just over half the glass. 

“It’s okay Jon. You’re okay,” Martin says as he helps him. Jon just sighs and lets himself fall onto Martins side, resting his head on his shoulder. 

They stay like that for a bit until Martins stomach grumbles. 

Martin lets out a bit of a chuckle. “What would you like me to make for dinner, love?”

Jon shrugs. Martins stomach tightens when he sees the utterly defeated look on Jon’s face.

“How about something hot? Does that sound nice?” Martin rubs Jon’s arm, and Jon just shrugs again. “Do you want to come to the kitchen with me?”

Jon nods at this and follows Martin up off the bed and to the kitchen. Jon keeps one hand in Martins hand, and the other wrapped around himself. 

In the kitchen, Jon stands at the threshold, trying to stay out of Martins way as he goes around the kitchen gathering ingredients. Jon shifts foot to foot, unsure if he should sit down and wait, or if he should join Martin in the kitchen and help him. He should be helping him. Martin shouldn’t have to take care of Jon; Jon should be preparing dinner for Martin. 

Jon walks into the kitchen and tugs on Martins sleeve. 

“Yes love?” Martin smiles at him.

Jon can’t bring himself to speak. He opens and closes his mouth, but isn’t sure how to express what he wants to say.

“Can you speak, love?” Martin asks in a tone so gentile and sweet that Jon could stir it into tea in place of honey. He shakes his no and looks down at the floor. Martin puts a knuckle under Jon’s chin and tilts it up so he can see his eyes. 

“Hey, that’s okay. Do you want to stay here with me or do you want to go sit on the sofa?” Jon points to the floor beneath him and Martin understands. “Okay, how about I put you on the counter. Would that be okay?”

Jon nods and holds his arms out so Martin can lift him up. When he does, and Jon is plopped onto the counter, Jon feels like a child. He vaguely remembers one of his parents doing this once, before they died. But this familiarity helps Jon fall into a feeling of contentment. He watched Martin move around the small kitchen preparing dinner. He lays a cutting board and some small red potatoes on the counter next to Jon and he starts cutting them all into halves, then some into quarters. Jon reaches out to help. He makes grabby hands for the knife, but Martin waves his hand away as he says “Let me take care of you, love. You’ve already done so much. Let me do this for you.” He gives Jon a gentile smile. “Besides, it’s been a bit since I’ve gotten to make these and I think you’ll like them.”

Jon reluctantly nods. He could tell that Martin would not accept his help and that to insist would be pointless. Martin oils a baking dish and adds the potatoes and seasoning. He pops those into the oven and starts busying himself with preparing something else. 

Jon begins to swing his legs as Martin works.

One Martin has everything prepared and cooking, he picks Jon up off the counter and carries him to the sofa. Jon leans against Martin, and Martin wraps an arm around his waist. They sit there until the timer goes off. Martin tells Jon to stay on the sofa and he brings both of their dinner plates to the coffee table. They eat together in a comfortable silence. Jon takes a moment to really study Martins face.

“Does uh…does your cut feel better?” Jon barely speaks above a whisper, his voice hoarse from screaming. 

Martin grins. “It does. Thank you.” He pauses. “And Jon, I’m really sorry I pushed you away and that I scared you. It’s just that…I was upset and perhaps it went to my head-” Martin gets cut off when Jon wraps his arms around his waist. 

“No… I’m sorry for scaring you.” A Pause. “And thank you.”

“Do you feel better now?”

Jon nods. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Martin asks. He wants to help Jon, he really does. But in order for that to happen, Jon has to let Martin in, even if it’s just a little bit. A starting point. And from what Martin was able to gleam from Jon’s panic attack begging, Martin knows Jon needs to talk. He has so much pent-up anxiety and doubt. But he can’t force him to talk. Jon just shrugs again. “Okay,” Martin says. “When you do want to talk about it, I’ll be here. I’ll always be here.” He pauses for a moment. “Can I ask why you wanted to walk alone yesterday?”

“I just needed some alone time. The Eye has been trying to get me to Know things. Things that I don’t want to know or need to know. Just pointless trivia, like with the cow, or the books I’ve been trying to read. So, I went to the forest. There’s no statements there. No fears. It’s quiet,” Jon explains.

This makes Martin’s breath hitch. “Jon, love, that…that sounds a lot like what I was saying in The Lonely.”

“I suppose it does, doesn’t it?” Jon sighs deeply. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be dumping all this on you. Especially what I was saying with the... I just… once it started it all came spilling out and I just couldn’t stop.”

“It’s alright love.”

“No, I don’t think it is. You shouldn’t have to worry about my problems right now.” Jon curls up into a ball next to Martin.

“Jon, you’re allowed to feel things and have issues. We can work on this together, love.”

Jon huffs and shakes his head in disbelief as something twists inside of him. He’s noticed it and it hurts. Every time Martin says it, it feels like he’s spitting on Jon’s rotting corpse. “Why do you keep calling me that?”

“What? Love?”

“Yes. Why?” Jon looks at Martin. Jon feels tears pricking at the corner of his eyes. 

“Because I…want…to?” Martins voice holds confusion. “I can stop if it makes you uncomfortable.”

“No, it’s just that…” Jon sighs. “You don’t have to pretend for my sake Martin.”

“Jon, you’re not making any sense.”

“In The Lonely, Martin. You said that you really… loved me. I’m sorry, I should have told you when I realized I felt the same. But then Lukas happened and so much other shit. And now the cuddling, the hugs, the hand-holding, you keep calling me love, and it hurts to know that it’s not real anymore.” 

Martin sighs for what feels like the thousandth time that day. “Jon, I don’t think you’re in the right headspace to talk about this right now.” 

Jon opens his mouth and shuts it, trying to think of what to say. Eventually, he gets up off the sofa and he rushes for the back door, which faces the forest. He throws open the door and slams it behind him, not seeing that Martin was right on his heels, and that he slammed the door in his face. 

Outside, Jon runs a hand through his hair. ‘You ruined it’ a voice tells him. He wants to bolt to the forest again, to escape. Instead, he surprises himself and sits on the wooden steps that lead to the porch. It’s dark outside and it’s cold. He has no shoes or jacket on. The only barrier between him and the cold is his sweater, which isn’t doing much. Jon bites the section between the two joints of his thumb, and rocks a bit back and forth. 

He stays like this for about ten minutes until he’s startled by the opening of the door. He spins around, and sees Martin holding a big blanket and two steaming mugs. He hands one of the mugs to Jon and sets the other down. He takes the blanket and shakes it out, which he then drapes over Jon’s shoulders. 

“I can go back inside if you’d like, or I can stay here with you. But I don’t think you should be alone right now,” Martin says.

Jon reaches out from under the blanket for Martins hand. Martin takes it and sits down next to Jon.

The two sit and stare out into the field, into the trees, and up at the clear sky, full of stars.

“For what it’s worth, I’m not pretending for your sake,” Martin says softly. “I’m not pretending at all.”

Jon can’t force himself to speak, so he just gives Martin a quizzical look. 

“In The Lonely, I thought I was already gone. If you hadn’t found me when you did, I would have disappeared into that fog forever. But…” Martin takes a deep breath and Jon squeezes his hand. Jon is looking at him with sympathy. He’s patient and waits for Martin to continue to speak. “As far as I was concerned, I was dead to the world. Peter had cut me off and I was prepared to die. That’s what I supposed would happen when I joined him in the first place, I guess. But then…then you woke up. And suddenly I had a purpose again. If I could keep Peter away from you, then you’d be safe. I did it all because I loved you.” Jon looks away from Martin when he says that. But Martin took his hand and cupped Jon’s cheek with it, and brought him back to face him. “And I still do. I said it like that in The Lonely because, like I said, I thought I was already dead and gone.”  
Jon’s eyes are brimming with tears again. Martin looks at him concerned. “Please tell me these are happy tears and not sad ones.”

Jon nods and buries his face in Martins sweater sleeve. Martin brings his other hand up and pets Jon’s hair. Martin hears Jon sniffling and just lets him ride it out. 

A good chunk of time passes before Jon unburies his face from Martins sweater. He looks up to see Martin staring at the sky, and when he feels Jon move, so does Martins attention onto Jon. 

“Martin, you are the bravest person I know,” Jon says softly. “You’ve done so much and have gotten so little in return for it. I treated you like shit and you didn’t deserve it. And for that I am so, so sorry. I wish there was something I could do-” He’s cut off by Martin.

“Hey,” he starts softly. “You’ve already done so much. You pulled me out of The Lonely. Just by coming after me you showed me that someone cared enough about me. But then you bring me here, and you helped me every time I felt the call of The Lonely. Plus,” a mischievous grin breaks onto his face. “You gave me so much dirt on yourself in doing so.” 

Jon snickers at this and lays his head on Martins shoulder. “Shut up Martin,” he says, not serious.

“No really, Basira’s never going to believe me when I tell her you were in a band of ‘immortal space pirates’!”

“Ah, that would be Ashes O’Reilly, our Quartermaster.”

“No!” Martin gasps. “You’re shitting me.”

“Nope!” They both laugh.

“Fine, Georgie then.” Martin suggests.

“Who do you think filmed the shows?” Jon grins at him. 

“Wait. There’s video. Of you. Being an immortal space pirate. Singing about gay fairy tales. In Space?! You must show me!”

“I’ll show you when we get back inside. Should be on YouTube” He chuckles and rests his head back on Martins shoulder and they look up at the stars together. 

There is now a comfortable silence between the two. They each sip their cooling tea. Jon notes the extra sweetness in his. Martin must have added extra honey for his throat. ‘I don’t deserve this man,” Jon thinks.

“I love you. If I didn’t make that clear…” He mutters, and wraps his hand around Martins.

“No, I think you did. And I love you too.” He brings Jon’s hand up to his face and gives it a kiss on the knuckles. They both set their mugs of tea to the side. 

Jon lifts his head and puts his other hands fingertips on Martins jaw. He turns Martins head towards him and he gives him a kiss on the lips. It’s full of… not passion, but rather… love. And understanding. It’s gentile. No tongue, no teeth, no rush to it. Just lips. And Martins kissing him back. And his lips are warm. He was no longer the walking freezer that he was when Jon pulled him out of The Lonely, but rather, over the time they had spent at the cabin, Martin had gained some semblance of the regular human body temperature he had before all the shit went down with Lukas.

They pull apart and snuggle back together. “You know,” Martin sighs, “that officially being together won’t just make all of our problems magically go away.” 

“I know. But… It’s still nice. To have that label I mean. To know that you’re there for me and that you care enough to… And that I know that you know that I’m there for you in…ah I don’t know what I’m saying. I know what I’m trying to say,” Jon says, frustrated. 

“I think I understand what you’re going for. And I get it. But we do have to communicate too. I know it’s not your strong suit, but we can work through it together, okay? No bottling things up anymore. I want us to be able to talk to each other. If you’ve been having trouble with The Eye, then let’s talk and work something out. I’m sure we can.”

“Okay.” He pauses. “I’m here for you.”

“And I’m here for you. I really, really hope you understand that.” Martin cups Jon’s cheek and brings him in for another kiss. “I love you.” He smiles.

“And I love you darling.”

“We should probably go back inside. It’s cold. Besides, you have both a T shot to do still and videos to show me.” Martin stands and helps Jon up. Jon tightens the blanket around himself and they head back inside, where Martin helps Jon with his shot. Then, they cuddle on the sofa, where Jon pulls out his phone and shows Martin semi-good quality videos of an early in transition Jon performing as Jonny D’Ville, Captain-

“First mate,” Martin corrects when past Jon introduces himself to a crowd. He catches on fast.

Jon is smiling, Martin is smiling, and they relax into each other.

After a while of watching past Jon and his band of immortal space pirates, they both shuffled off to bed, where they cuddle close, and are lulled into a dreamless and nightmareless sleep by the rustle of wind in the distant trees. And for just a moment, everything is okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the support on my first fic. This was awesome!  
> I’m already working on my next fic so keep an eye out for that if you enjoyed this! I’m looking at it being a one-shot though. Then again, this was supposed to be one chapter and then it turned into five, so we’ll see!

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback and kudos fuel me! Please let me know if there are any tags or content warnings I missed or should add.  
> Thanks for reading!


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